6 Years and I still haven't grown up

I always write an article for our business birthdays. This year I was wondering what to do to mark the occasion - I could have written about the things I'm most proud of, or the lessons I've learnt over the last six years, but they've all been done before and it's a little predictable right?

Instead, I have written about all the ways I thought I would've grown up and all the ways I absolutely haven't. For some reason, I assumed that six years in I would have developed an organised filing system, or become a much more polished founder with sleek hair and a solid skincare regime, or even at a minimum learnt how to plan launches properly. I thought there would come a point where running a business felt less chaotic and I felt more certain about what I was doing. I was wrong on all counts.So here are my six (and a bit) things I am still doing that I thought I would've grown out of by now.​

One thing I really thought would disappear over time was my fascination with orders. I assumed that as the business grew, I would naturally become more focused on the bigger picture. The strategy, the financials, the long-term plans. Surely there would come a point where individual orders stopped feeling significant.

That point has not arrived.

I still look at every order that comes in and see whether somebody has ordered before, when they last ordered and what they bought. I am still as fascinated as ever by the progression of somebody through the range. I love it when I see a new order come in for another design in the same collection because I know that means they were happy with the first one.

There is something oddly satisfying about watching that journey happen over months or years. Somebody starts with one kit, then another catches their eye, then another. I know peoples names and can probably tell you what they ordered and when. Maybe that’s a bit creepy. Six years later and I still get exactly the same excitement from that as I did when that Shopify “ka-ching” sound goes off (if you know, you know).

Esme and Georgina are fully in control of customer service these days. They do not need me hovering around checking up on things and I have complete confidence in them. And yet I still find myself opening the inbox when nobody is looking. I was supposed to have removed the mailbox from my computer so I don’t get distracted but I still found a secret way I can check it.

Partly because I can't help but interfere, but mostly because I am curious. I want to know what people are asking of us, whether we are helping in the right way and what problems people are running into. Customer service has always been one of the places where you learn the most about your business. It tells you where people are getting stuck, what they are confused by and what they wish existed.

It is also where some of the loveliest messages arrive. Every now and then there will be an email showing what someone has made and how proud they are of it, and it’s a lovely reminder of what we do and why!

I still haven't found the time to sort out my file storage situation and make it easily understandable to anybody else in the team. Every year I think this will be the year I finally sort it out and yet there always seems more urgent.

The consequence is that, despite other people quite reasonably wanting to take control of inventory ordering, I remain responsible for ordering every instruction booklet and design plan. Not because anybody else couldn't do it, but because I have unintentionally created a system that only really makes sense inside my own head.

This is one of those problems that has somehow survived far longer than it should have. You would have thought me taking a bit of maternity leave would’ve meant I fixed it but instead it felt easier to just bulk order enough stock to get us through the period. It is neither exciting nor important enough to force its way to the top of the priority list, but it quietly causes inconvenience year after year. Perhaps writing it down publicly will finally shame me into doing something about it.

I really thought by now I would have somebody helping on the finance side of the business. Every month I find myself up late at night doing month-end reports and asking myself exactly the same question: why have I left this so late again? Every month I promise myself I will finally get some help. Every month I seem to carry on exactly as before.

The truth is that, despite not being particularly brilliant at finance (as much as I trained as an accountant, I never worked in a small business finance function!), I am not entirely convinced anybody else would do it better. Or perhaps more accurately, I am not entirely convinced anybody else would care about it as much as I do. There is something about understanding every line of the numbers that makes me feel in control of what is actually happening in the business.

Honestly, I thought this obsession would settle over time. I assumed there would come a point where I would have a healthier relationship with the business. That I would switch off more easily. That it would occupy a sensible amount of mental space rather than all available mental space. I really thought having a baby might push the business out a bit, but I just seem to have gained head space and the business has expanded to fill it. If you see me staring into the distance, there is a very high probability that I am thinking about products, launches, inventory, customer feedback, future plans or some problem I haven't solved yet.

I don't know whether that is a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps it is simply the reality of building something yourself. Six years later, it is still the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep.

We have a major new launch coming up in September. It is an entirely new category of products for us and it still terrifies me as much as when I first launched into needlepoint.

One of the things I genuinely thought experience would bring was confidence. I thought there would come a point where I trusted myself enough that new decisions felt exciting rather than frightening. Instead, every big step still comes with a healthy dose of anxiety and uncertainty.

I spend a lot of time wondering whether I am launching the right products, following the right strategy and making sensible decisions. The funny thing is that when I look back, most of the decisions that felt terrifying at the time ended up being absolutely fine. Yet somehow knowing that still never seems to make the next decision any easier.

For some reason I assumed that after running the business for a few years I would develop the discipline to have a slick launch process. In my head, launches would involve imagery prepared months in advance, carefully scheduled emails and marketing plans that unfolded with military precision. Everything would be organised and sensible and calm. I think that is how it is supposed to be.

Instead, we still seem to pull everything together in the final few days before launch. We still never photograph things early enough to fit into a proper PR window. And I still regularly find myself writing launch emails the night before launch. In fact, I actively force that sometimes – I refuse to start on them until the last possible moment because I know that if I have too much time, I’ll procrastinate.

At some point I think I need to stop fighting to be somebody I am not. Forward planning has never been my strongest skill.

There is still a large part of me convinced tomorrow is going to be the day it all stops. The day the orders dry up. The day nobody wants what we make anymore. The day the dream is over. If I wake up and there hasn’t been an order overnight, I’ll think, that’s it then.

You would think six years of evidence might have stopped that fear by now. Rationally, I know businesses do not simply disappear overnight. Rationally, I know we have customers who support us and products people genuinely enjoy.

But running a business, particular a business built on your own designs, isn't always rational. I know just how fragile business can be, and how hard it is to get attention and perhaps that awareness never completely leaves. That worry does get quieter but it also is an amazing motivator to keep pushing.

Despite a lot of launches under our belt, I remain remarkably bad at predicting what inventory we are actually going to need.

From buying an absolutely obscene number of tubes for the Bargello kits to completely under-ordering for our Schumacher launch, I have managed to experience both extremes. Every launch brings a fresh opportunity to discover a new and creative way to misjudge demand.

The challenge, of course, is that every launch feels unique. Past experience helps, but only up to a point. There is always some new variable you didn't anticipate or customer behaviour you didn't predict.

My dad always says the day I master inventory management is the day I should buy a lottery ticket.

For some mad reason I thought by now I would have a slick wardrobe, nicely done hair, some fancy make-up routine and always impeccable nails. I imagined that somewhere along the line I would transform into the sort of business founder who looks effortlessly polished all the time. I see so many of them online and I really thought that would be me.

Instead, I turn up at work as chaotic and scruffy as ever. I still have never had a facial, I don’t have one of those red light masks, I can’t wear clothes without getting paint on them, I regularly cram lunch as a co-op meal deal.

Perhaps I assumed that professionalism would eventually arrive disguised as a capsule wardrobe and a sleek hair. If it has, it appears to have got lost on the way. My era of being stylish and put together remains firmly on the horizon. Maybe something my next 6 years will bring?

This is perhaps a slightly niche ambition, but I genuinely thought by now we would have an overdraft facility. Apparently, however, the British banking sector has very little interest in actually supporting small businesses.

As a result, the ongoing battle between a constantly growing business and the need to fund larger and larger inventory requirements continues (although I probably can’t complain given my previous point about just ordering more stock over sorting out my filling). Growth sounds wonderful in theory, but product businesses have the irritating habit of requiring you to pay for everything long before you get paid yourself.

Nothing makes you appreciate cash flow quite like trying to buy increasing quantities of inventory whilst simultaneously convincing a bank that your business is a sensible thing to lend money to.

Perhaps the thing that surprises me most is that I still don't know what success looks like.I thought there would be a moment when it felt like we had made it. A point where I could sit back, relax and think, "Well done. We did it."

The strange thing is that every milestone I once dreamed about eventually arrived, and none of them felt the way I expected. They were wonderful for a few days, and then my attention shifted immediately to the next thing we wanted to achieve.

I can see how far we have come, but there is still so much I want us to do. I am beginning to suspect that feeling of having completed the task never really happens. I think building a business is like climbing mountains – you get over the crest of the hill and there is always another summit ahead. One day I’ll just decide that I have gone quite far enough.

The surprising thing about all these ways I thought I would be different is actually how little I have changed from Day 1 to Day 2190.

I am still excited about every order. I am still anxious about every launch. I am still worried about every customer email. I am still filing things in stupid ways. I am still waking up in the middle of the night with ideas. I am still caring too much. I still feel terrified it will all end.

For the next six years I have lots of big dreams and ambitions, but on a really simple level, I just hope I can keep giving my team reasons to feel excited about coming to work, keep bringing you products you'll enjoy and keep being excited about every order that comes in.

If I were to change one thing for the next six years, I hope I trust myself more. I made it this far and yet it is always too easy to look at the next peak you have to summit rather than celebrating the one you are standing on. I hope for the next six years I get better at recognising the wins, recognising the multitude of ways I have grown and taking more pride in how far we have come.

Whether you have been here for all six years or just the last six days, I am so grateful for every message and kind word. Building The Fabled Thread has been the greatest challenge of my life. It is a magnificent, exciting and totally addictive challenge, but sometimes you don't know how much those kind words have been needed.

Here's to the next 6 years!